Somnambulist

Sometimes working on the nightshift can be the saddest thing in the world.

True, with the right officemates, the graveyard shift can resemble a slumber party. But there will always be that time of the night when everyone falls silent and deal with their individual sleepless state. It is in these moments, when everyone stops for a pause, that we realize just how lonely the night can be. A man can actually drown in his emotions if he’s not careful.

Still, I have yet to see an officemate succumb to the night’s loneliness. Either the people I work with are made of stronger stuff, or they’re too loaded with work to be saddled by invisible things like melancholy or wistfulness. It bothers me (though not in an irritated sort of way) as I am actually expecting an officemate to break down one of these days—I’m even looking forward to it.

In some twisted sense, I sometimes yearn for those moments. The tenderness that comes with the poignancy of silence is such that no matter how callous my feelings may have become, these fleeting episodes remind me that I am still capable of sadness, of loneliness. I find it refreshing that our humanity sometimes rises to the surface when nobody is looking– when we’re too lost in our own thoughts to recognize how vulnerable, how truly alive we are.